I opened my mouth to berate Johnny some more when a white blur zipped by.

Swifte stopped in the middle of the lawn and struck a heroic pose. Hands on his hips, chest out, chin up. He was a tall, thin man who reminded me of a string bean. As his name suggested, Swifte was built for speed, not strength. The afternoon sun hit his back, and all the colors of the rainbow shimmered in the superhero’s opalescent spandex suit. Silver sparkles glittered on the edges of the wing-shaped mask that covered his face. I eyed him with distaste. Swifte’s getup was rather over the top, even for me. Superheroes, especially men, 40

J e n n i f e r E s t e p

should not wear head-to-toe white. Ever. He so needed a makeover.

The superhero was so quick that he didn’t even stir up any of the sooty dust or hot embers that coated the grass. A black bag dangled from his gloved hand.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you, Swifte?” I sniped. “The party’s over.”

The superhero relaxed his media pose. He shrugged. “I was around. I heard the commotion and thought you might need a hand, especially since none of your friends showed up to help. Where’s the rest of the F5 gang?”

“Oh, they’re around somewhere,” I replied in a vague voice.

“Of course they are,” Swifte murmured, looking at Carmen.

I thought Carmen blushed. But it was probably just the heat lingering in the air that painted her cheeks a bright pink.

Swifte gazed out at the smoke and debris. “Well, you acquitted yourself nicely, Fiera. Even without your friends’

help.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “I always do.”

“Well, I’ll just drop these off and be on my way.” Swifte shoved the bag at me and tipped his head to Carmen and Sam. “My congrats to the happy bride and groom.”

The superhero put his hands back on his hips and struck another pose. Then, he disappeared. One second he was here, the next he was halfway to Metropolis. I hefted the bag. The telltale clink and rattle of jewels and chains sounded.

“Is that what I think it is?” Henry asked, pushing his soot-streaked glasses up his nose.

I opened the bag and peered inside at the gleaming gems. “Yep. Somehow, Swifte lifted the stolen jewels off Intelligal’s chair.”

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41

“That’s pretty impressive,” Lulu chimed in. “I didn’t even see him.”

“Swifte is quick, I’ll give him that,” I said. He was also rather annoying, popping up when you least expected him to, sort of like a zit. And he always zoomed off before you had a chance to talk to him. The only people who ever got to say more than twenty words to Swifte were the reporters from the Superhero News Network and other media outlets. He always had plenty of time to stop and talk to them. Showboat.